“Vanja, yes.Regicide, that’s it!” I snap my fingers. “Conspiracy to commit regicide. He did that. And conspiracy to, uh, invade? He was planning to dissolve the Free Imperial States, so whatever you want to call that. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal too.”
“Correct,” Truth whispers.
“I might like you after all, Truth.”
I would say Truth winks at me, but they have an untold myriad of eyes, so honestly it’s anyone’s guess.
Adalbrecht isn’t smiling anymore.
Emeric tries to grab my shoulder and wafts right through it. “What are you doing?” he hisses frantically. “You have to proveallof those things or they won’t bring you back to life!”
“I have to try, or else he’s just going to do worse in a few more years.” I flap a hand. “Sometimes you just have to throwspätzleat the wall and see what sticks, Junior.”
“Youabsolutelydo not, that is how you getruined spätzle—”
Justice clears her throat. “It’s time for your opening statement, Vanja.”
“Right.” I turn to Emeric. “What is that?”
Emeric gathers himself a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, and I’m fairly certain he’s interrogating a lot of the life choices that brought him to this point. “Just . . . explain why we think von Reigenbach did all those things, and how. Tell the story. And remember you can call witnesses after to back everything up. But that’sallyou have.”
“I know. I can be convincing.”
He looks like he wants to kiss me. And a little like he wants to strangle me. Wearemeant for each other.
Then he swallows and says, “I trust you. So you’ve already convinced at least me.”
Damn it, nowIwant to kiss him. All the more motivation to win the case.
Tell the story. I know how to do that. And when I look at Adalbrecht’s rigid, furious face, I remember why I want to.
So I step forward, and I tell the Low Gods a tale.
CHAPTER FORTY- ONE
ThePrice
I tell the Low Gods of wolves in Sovabin.
I tell them of dead margraves and hungry ones, I tell them of prefects andgrimlingen, letters and loopholes, poisons and skulls. I tell them of thieves. I tell them of fires. I tell them of bells.
And when I am done, I call my witnesses.
I call Ragne. Joniza. Barthl. They all arrive startled and unsure, but they tell what they’ve seen and heard, Truth softly confirming their stories.
Adalbrecht is given the opportunity to respond after each account. He dissembles and excuses, weaving words cleverly so Truth hums and grumbles, “He believes that is . . .true.” He claims he desired a young bride like so many men do. He claims he wished to protect Bóern with thenachtmären. He claims he did not give the order to kill Klemens the night of the ball, that the Wolfhünden were afraid to face the prefect’s
scrutiny.
Each time, the Low Gods whisper among themselves.
I let them. I know how this story ends.
I call Irmgard and watch her squirm as Truth patiently says, “That is a lie,” again and again until Justice sends Irmgard from the court. Adalbrecht doesn’t even bother responding.
I call Emeric, and he holds my gaze with his own as I ask for his tale.
Finally, I call Gisele. I ask her to stand by me, to say my story is true.
